


Bloodlust

by dontcareajot



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcareajot/pseuds/dontcareajot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampire!fic. Miles is bitten and unknowingly begins to transition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodlust

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a part of something longer but I've given up on ever finishing it. Thought I'd share this piece of it anyway. Very quickly edited so forgive me if it's a little rough around the edges.

It happens during a celebratory night out. There's not much to celebrate, really, aside from the fact that Miles has been able to join them on the road for a couple of days, but that's reason enough for Alex. It's been a while since their last reunion and he's missed Miles more than he's willing to admit. Which is why he's understandably peeved when, in the midst of what was meant to be a kind of lads night out, Miles gets entirely distracted by a wisp of a bird in a short dress.

Alex can't fault him for it- she's a pretty little thing- but he still finds himself growing annoyed at the way she clings to Miles, demanding and receiving all his attention. It's no surprise when they disappear not long later but it is disappointing. Alex feels rather like he's been stood up, which is ridiculous. Still, Miles stays gone and after a while Alex decides to call the night a wash and head out, very much alone.

He doesn't get far. He pauses just outside the pub's door, basking in the cool night air and the relative quietness after the noisiness of the pub. Something catches his eye and he looks down, curiosity piqued.

Red litters the sidewalk.

Alex stares at it for a moment, uncomprehending. Blood? If so then there's certainly a lot of it, splatters here and there and small pools of the stuff forming a trail down the sidewalk.

Alex follows the trail with his eyes to the mouth of the alley, more worried by the second. His worry turns out not to be unfounded when he finds Miles there, eyes closed, back against the brick, and one hand clamped firmly over his neck.

Alex wanders closer, heart pounding. Blood drips from between Miles' fingers.

“Miles?” Alex calls, anxious, reaching out to him.

“Alex?” Miles replies, voice strained. He opens his eyes, blinks like he's being blinded. “She bit me,” he says. Then he laughs. “She fucking _bit me_.”

“She what? Fuck, Miles, let me see.” Alex pries Miles' hand from his neck. The sight of the wound makes him want to throw up. It looks like there's a great bloody chunk missing from Miles' neck. His front is soaked with blood, his white button-down doing nothing to hide the extent of the bleeding. 

“Shit,” Alex says. It's the only thing that comes to mind.

“That bad?” Miles wonders, watching Alex with a sort of lazy, detached expression. Like he couldn't care less that he's just been bit by some mad bird.

Alex is shaking. “Yeah, mate. I- I'll call an ambulance, yeah? Just- maybe you should sit down or summat.”

“Don't,” Miles says, forceful, as Alex pulls out his mobile. “No ambulance. She gave me something. Can't risk it.”

“I don't bloody care,” Alex snaps. “Have you seen yourself? You need a fucking doctor.”

Miles opens his mouth like he might protest again, then closes it. He sways dangerously, his eyes falling closed. Alex drops his phone when he darts forward to catch him. It cracks when it hits the concrete.

Muttering curses, Alex slips his arm around Miles to support him. He's practically dead weight.

“'S really not that bad,” Miles insists. He works to regain his balance, as if to prove a point. Alex hovers anxiously beside him, braced to catch him again, but Miles stands steady. “I'm already feeling better, mate.”

It's not the most convincing lie. Still, Alex takes a closer look at the wound, trying to overlook all the blood to gauge how bad it really is. He has to admit that perhaps it's not as deep as he'd feared but it's still a nasty piece of work. And it's still dribbling blood.

He takes a deep breath. “Alright, Mi. But let's get you back to the hotel, eh? Get you cleaned up.”

Miles shrugs. Alex chooses to interpret that as agreement and calls a cab. The driver is kind enough not to ask questions, though the looks he casts them in the mirror have Alex squirming.

When they arrive, Alex smuggles Miles in by lending him his coat to cover his bloodstained shirt. He throws a towel down on the hotel loveseat and takes a damp flannel to Miles' neck. Miles is quiet as Alex cleans him up. Pensive. Alex tries to pry details out of him- where did the girl go, why did she bite him, what did she give him, etc.- but Miles gives him little to go on. Says he can't remember much. By the time Alex has cleared all the blood away he's looking more alert, more sober, and the wound isn't nearly as bad as Alex had first thought.

Miles prods at it, tracing the gash with a finger. He squints at Alex. “No hospital?”

“No hospital,” Alex agrees. “But you're staying here tonight.”

“So you can keep an eye on me?” Miles asks, sounding rather pleased about it.

“Someone's got to.”

Miles doesn't argue.

They sleep side by side, close but not touching, and by the time they wake up and Miles peels off his bandage, his wound has healed into two little pinprick marks, barely visible. Neither of them is sure what to make of it. Alex can't help but remain concerned- he's still got Miles' blood-soaked shirt sitting in the bathtub, serving as a gruesome reminder. But Miles brushes off his worries as unwarranted.

“You'd been drinking,” he says. “And I were off me head. It probably just seemed worse than it was, yeah?”

Still, Alex keeps a close eye on him throughout the day. He seems his usual vibrant, boisterous self. Back to normal after a nightmarish evening out. Alex briefly considers but quickly discards the idea of asking Miles to sit out playing with them. He's excited, smiling, happy, and Alex wants perform with him.

By the time he calls Miles to the stage, more than halfway through the set, he's nearly forgotten his worries altogether. But he's swiftly reminded of them when he lays eyes on his friend. Because Miles looks like shit. Alex does a double take as he walks onstage. He'd seemed so perfectly fine before the show but now he looks like death warmed over. He walks with his head down and his shoulders bent, doesn't bother greeting the crowd. He looks startlingly pale, drained of all color. He catches Alex's eye from across the stage and tries to smile but it falls off his face so quickly that Alex isn't convinced in the slightest.

A thousand potential reasons for his sickly pallor come to mind, running the gamut from likely to nigh-impossible. Maybe the drugs have finally worked their way out of his system or maybe he's been hit with a migraine or a virus- but Alex doesn't let himself entertain the thought that it's anything more serious.

 _It's just one song_ , Alex thinks, willing him to perk up. He can see Miles' hands shaking. _Just make it through this one song._

Miles does make it through the song, but only just. Alex tries to focus on performing but he can hear Miles struggling, can hear his fingers faltering on the guitar, and when he strikes the last chord and Alex turns to look at him he finds him with his eyes squeezed shut and one hand clamped over his mouth. Alex doesn't run to him but only because he doesn't want to panic the crowd. Instead he walks, worrying his lip between his teeth as he goes.

“Miles?” Alex calls, leaning in to be heard over the mass of people in the audience. “Miles, what's wrong?”

Miles is facing fully away from the crowd now and on top of that he's hiding his face in his hands. He's so still. He doesn't answer Alex, doesn't make a sound, but when Alex hesitantly puts an arm around his shoulders Miles doesn't push him away. In fact, he sort of sags into it, leaning so heavily on Alex that Alex is practically holding him up. He's putting off heat like a furnace.

“Miles,” Alex says again. “Tell me what's wrong, mate. Do you need some- fuck, I dunno. Some water or summat?”

“Alex,” Miles croaks, voice rough. “Sorry, I'm just- I don't know. I don't know.”

“Alright,” Alex says, at a loss. “Maybe a lie down, eh? Come on, then.”

Miles lets himself be lead offstage. Once there, he staggers away from Alex, still refusing to look at him, instead facing the wall. He grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Sorry,” he says again. “God, I feel- I feel fucked up. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Alex can hear the crowd chanting, growing anxious. “Mate, I've gotta get back out there. Will you be alright until the show's over, do you think?”

Miles waves him off. “I'll be fine. Go.”

Alex hesitates. Miles looks _really_ bad. “Miles-”

“ _Really_ ,” Miles insists. He throws a smile over his shoulder. “'s probably nothing, right? Go on.”

Alex hates doing it but he's forced to go back onstage, to pretend everything is fine. He's sure the fans know something is off anyway because, quite frankly, his heart isn't in the performance. His mind is on Miles. He's seen Miles upset and he's seen him sick but this feels different. He can't help but worry. So much so that he's rushing off the stage before the final song has come completely to an end. Bad concert etiquette, maybe, but he trusts the lads will understand.

He finds Miles alone in a dressing room, sprawled out on the couch with an arm thrown over his eyes. It's hard to tell if he's sleeping or not so Alex approaches quietly, practically tip-toeing until he can kneel at Miles' side. Miles makes a muffled noise of protest when Alex reaches up to brush his fringe from his forehead and take his temperature.

“'M not feverish,” he argues, and it's true. Where earlier he was burning up he's now cool to the touch. But when he drops his arm he squints against the light, like even the dim florescent is too much for him.

“Had to check.” Alex lifts Miles so he can climb onto the couch, then settles the two of them so he's practically cradling Miles, his head resting on Alex's chest. Miles doesn't fight it in the slightest, just lets himself be held. 

They sit in silence, as that seems to be what Miles wants. It's not long before Nick appears in the doorway, looking concerned and curious. Alex gently shushes him and shoos him away, trying not to disturb Miles. He goes, albeit reluctantly, and does them the favor of closing the door behind himself. 

Alex keeps telling himself that all Miles needs is rest and a little peace and quiet. He smooths his hands through Miles' hair, soothing him, and just when Alex starts to think Miles has really fallen asleep, he turns and presses his cold nose against Alex's neck, raising goose bumps on Alex's flesh, and inhales a shaky breath. “Smell good,” he mumbles. “Always smell good, Al.”

Alex runs a hand down Miles' spine. “Feeling better?”

“No,” he says. It's practically a whimper. He burrows further into Alex, fingers clutching at the front of Alex's shirt. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“Everything.” He sits up a little, eyes not quite meeting Alex's. “And I feel... all empty, like. Hollow.” He shifts so that instead of laying across Alex he's half-straddling him, one leg between his and the other on the outside, arms round him and his face buried in Alex's neck.

“Mi?” Alex asks, his own voice shaky now. In answer, Miles kisses his neck and just rests there for a moment, breathing him in. “Miles?” Alex tries again, flushing as his body reacts in a way it definitely shouldn't to Miles' proximity. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest and all of a sudden he's hyper-aware of everywhere Miles is touching him. The way Miles has sneaked his thumb up under Alex's shirt and is gently stroking back and forth across his hip, the way his other hand is toying with a lock of Alex's hair, the heat of their thighs pressed together.

“I think it would help...” Miles speaks with his lips against Alex's skin, trailing off before he can finish the thought.

Alex swallows around the lump in his throat. He's thrumming with anticipation, waiting to see what Miles will do next. Alex doesn't even know what he wants Miles to do. It is, admittedly, not an unfamiliar feeling. “What would help, Miles?”

“Just- just let me...”

Miles' fingers wind themselves through Alex's hair, gripping hard enough to hurt, and without warning he uses his hold to wrench Alex's head to the side and sink his teeth into Alex's neck. Alex's brain short circuits as pain blooms bright behind his eyes, whiting out his vision for a beat. Then Alex gasps as, abruptly, the pain transitions into overwhelming pleasure. Rather than shoving Miles away, as reason says he should, his hands fly to Miles' hips, holding him in place. Digging his thumbs in hard enough to leave bruises. His hips buck up against Miles without Alex's permission as whatever Miles is doing to him goes straight to his cock.

Miles moans, then, loud and shameless, and Alex realizes he's getting hard, too- can feel the line of his cock through his trousers. Alex shivers right down to his toes. This isn't right- Miles is his best mate. They don't do this kind of thing. 

Only it feels too good to stop. Too good to make Miles stop. Alex can't help the noises that escape his mouth and neither, it seems, can Miles. Not that he appears to be putting forth much effort. He's noisy, and completely unabashed, and that isn't so much a surprise but the way it's turning Alex on certainly is. Anyone could hear them but somehow that does nothing to discourage his arousal.

Without releasing his hold on Alex's hair, or detaching from his neck, Miles trails a hand down to palm at himself through the fabric of his jeans. Alex's mouth practically waters. He doesn't think he's ever gotten so turned on so quickly in his _life_. Suddenly the idea of touching Miles' cock, tasting it, is more appealing than it's ever been.

But Alex isn't sure he's allowed to touch and, aside from that, he's not sure his hands would cooperate. His limbs feel weighted down, worn out. He's too drained to do anything but rut helplessly against Miles' thigh.

When Miles draws his teeth out of Alex's neck, Alex feels the loss keenly. But there isn't time to focus on it. Miles nips at Alex's ear, breaths, “Fuck, Al, you taste so good.”

Alex whimpers, fingers clawing uselessly at Miles' back now. He needs- something. He needs Miles to keep talking, to kiss him, to touch him, to let Alex touch him, _something_.

Miles doesn't do any of those things. He undoes the button and zip of his own trousers and slides them down just far enough to get a hand on himself. He moans obscenely as he starts to wank himself off. Alex bites his lip, watching as Miles works himself over, thumbing at his own slit and smearing his own precome along the shaft. “God, Alex,” he groans, right into Alex's ear, giving another tug to Alex's hair.

Alex is so hard he could cry. His mouth is practically watering at the sight of Miles, his cock flushed and leaking over his own fingers, and so tantalizingly close. “Miles, Mi- please,” he whines, squirming where he sits, desperate, fingers twitching where they're gripping the fabric of Miles' shirt.

The only indication that Miles even heard him is the way his hand speeds up. “Just,” he says, nudging his nose against Alex's neck, voice strained. “Just one more taste.”

He bites down again and that's all it takes for both of them. Alex's vision whites out for a second time and when he can see again he finds come on his shirt, an uncomfortable wetness in his pants, and Miles leaning heavily against his chest, both of them boneless and out of breath.

For a moment the aftermath is blissful. Alex feels sated, more satisfied than he can ever remember being- and Miles didn't even _touch him_. But once the fog over his brain lifts enough for him to form a thought, he realizes he absolutely does not know where to go from here. He doesn't want to break the fragile silence, to face whatever the hell just happened. Especially not while he still feels like this, dazed and heavy-lidded. But he knows they can't just sit here forever. Someone could walk in. The door isn't even locked, for fucks sake.

“Miles,” he says, his voice rough like it usually only is in the mornings. He clears his throat and tries again. “Mi? C'mon, Miles, someone'll be looking for us.”

“Can't move,” Miles grumbles, sounding markedly more like his usual self than before. “Don't wanna.”

Alex reaches up hesitantly to pat him on the back. Touching Miles has suddenly taken on a whole lot more meaning. “Er, you're gonna have to let me up, at least. Need to change before someone sees me like this.”

For a second there's only silence, and then Miles starts laughing. Quiet little huffs against Alex's skin that build into a kind of delirious giggle. “I'm sorry, Alex,” he says “Fuck, what the hell's the matter with me?” Miles finally sits up and lets Alex get a good look at his face and all Alex can really do is stare.

Slowly, he reaches up and drags his thumb through the mess of blood smeared across Miles' lips. Miles watches him do it with surprising intensity, eyes never leaving Alex's.

“This is... mine?” Alex asks, even though he knows it is. Whose else would it be? It's just- there's so much of it, not just on Miles' lips but dripping down his chin and onto his shirt as well.

“I did that,” Miles says, sounding some combination of awed and disturbed. “I... shit. I didn't hurt you, did I?” He grabs Alex's face and tilts his head to the side to get a good look at the new bite mark. Now that the aftershocks of his orgasm are starting to wear off Alex can feel the spot beginning to throb in time with his pulse. Miles whispers, voice soft, “God, Alex, why didn't you stop me?”

Before Alex can come up with an answer there's a knock at the door. Miles is off the couch and across the room so fast Alex is left reeling.

“Get your shit together, Al,” he hisses, all the tenderness from a moment before gone as he panics. He tucks himself back into his trousers and zips up. “Fuck, the blood. What do I do about the blood?”

It sounds like a rhetorical question so Alex holds his tongue. Instead he busies himself with finding a new shirt. He grabs and puts on the first one he lays hands on and then prays to God whoever is at the door won't ask him about the faint wet spot on the front of his trousers. Then it occurs to him that they'll probably be more concerned about the bloody huge bite mark on the side of his neck.

“Just a minute!” Miles calls to the person at the door when they knock again, this time more insistently. 

Alex looks in the mirror, prods gingerly at the wound, and has no idea how to feel about it. It hurts, is the thing, and it looks awful. And his best mate just _drank his blood_. Yet the only feeling he can seem to dredge up is one of quiet contentment and satisfaction. He feels loose, languid, even pleased. Is this how Miles felt last night? Is this what that bird did to him?

Alex doesn't know how long he stands there admiring the mark before Miles turns up at his side, damp washcloth in hand, his own face now cleansed. He coaxes Alex into tilting his head, baring his neck, then gets to work cleaning up the leftover blood there, which has already begun to dry. He's so careful, so gentle about it, and Alex can practically _feel_ the guilt oozing off of him. He doesn't know what to say to make it better and Miles certainly doesn't bring it up so silence reigns supreme while Miles tends to him. Then Miles steps away, clears his throat. “Put on a coat or something- something with a collar,” he instructs, voice low. Then he's marching toward the door and pulling it open as Alex moves to obey him.

It's Matt on the other side of the door. When he sees Miles looking right as rain, with a healthy blush on his cheeks and a sharpness to his gaze that he lacked before, he visibly sags with relief. “Guess you're feeling better then? What the bloody hell even was that? You looked like hell out there.”

Miles blinks a few times. “Er- I don't really-”

“Migraine,” Alex supplies, providing the first lie that comes to mind. “Just needed a bit of peace and quiet, right, Miles?”

Miles is quick to nod along. “Right, yeah. It were just a migraine.”

It's definitely not the most convincing they've ever been. Matt looks between them skeptically. He notices Alex's change of wardrobe, because of course he does, and his eyebrows shoot up. “Cold?” he asks, nodding at the jacket Alex threw on. He doesn't wait on a reply, though, just shakes his head and seems to accept their weirdness. “Whatever. 'M just glad it wasn't serious. You had us all worried, mate.”

Miles pastes on a smile. “I'm _fine_ , Matt, honestly. Just a migraine, no reason to freak out. Right, Al?”

Alex nods and that's that. Matt knows Alex, knows he wouldn't agree to something like that unless he actually believed Miles was okay. So he lays off them- but he doesn't leave them alone. Instead he hangs around until they're all ready to head to the bus, oblivious to the awkwardness in the air.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](http://www.dontcareajot.tumblr.com)! Come say hi! <3


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